Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [108]
The wizard shrugged, "I'd also like to see more of the soft word and hidden agreement in the way we work in days ahead-and fewer marching armies and indiscriminate spell-hurling. We're making enemies at far too fast a rate, and making too many rulers uncomfortable, I don't want to see armies from several realms besieging our walls in a year or two."
Fzoul nodded slowly. "This is more sense than I've heard from the mouth of a wizard of the Brotherhood in several winters,"
Sarhthor nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face, "They're all too eager to topple towers and twist the world overnight, aren't they?"
Fzoul lifted his lip in a cruel parody of a smile. "Exactly. I'm hoping we can see eye to eye on more things, Sarhthor, than your predecessor and I ever did. It would be a pleasure to work together to make the Brotherhood great for once rather than spending our best energies in fighting each other, wizards against priests, and cabal against cabal."
Sarhthor smiled thinly, "I'm sure it's afforded the Great Lord Bane-and foes such as Elminster-much entertainment over the years,"
Fzoul's smile vanished at those words, but he said only, "Say on,"
Sarhthor shrugged, "I'd like to build Zhentil Keep into something greater than a fortress of fear, Fzoulan empire ruling all Dragon Reach and the Moonsea. Whatever our individual dreams, there'll be more room for ambitious Brothers who wear the robes of Bane or who walk as wizards to find their own desires fulfilled if we grow larger and more powerful. I know Great Lord Bane wants to see such an empire loyal to him, because I've heard your underpriests chanting the Words of Bane often enough.
The sorcerers under me provide you with wilder magic than other priesthoods can match-we need each other."
Fzoul's face was grim, but there was a light in his eyes as he asked, "What, then, do you think we should do "
Sarhthor slid not quite smile, "Well," he said…
Narm came into the hall of mirrors in the Hidden House, went to where Shandril sat, and bent over her,
"What're you eating? It smells wonderful,"
With an impish smile. Shandril looked up at him over her shoulder, shifted what she was chewing to one cheek, and replied, "Fried snake."
Narm choked.
Mirt chuckled wickedly across the table and said, "Well done, Shan. Ah, to see wizards wearing that sort of expression more often." He lifted his own steaming plate to Narm and said, "Cooked it meself, lad-try it; 'tis good!"
Ignoring Narm's expression of disgust, the old merchant went on jovially, "One must have the right sort of snake, of course, and prepare it just so… or it's best to slay with chicken instead, roasted with almonds, That comes close to the same taste, but falls short"
"I'm certain you're right," Narm said in a voice that indicated nothing of the sort. Then the young mage peered suspiciously at Mirt. "Where'd you get the snake, anyway? I'm sure Tessaril doesn't have them stacked up in her larder,"
Mirt smiled at him and pointed at a door, "I found it in one of the rooms-the one with the bones an' open graves."
Narm wandered away, waving dismissive hands at the proffered plate and looking rather green.
"Mirt! Stop it." Tessaril's voice was reproving, "I've brought friends to visit," From behind her, Storm grinned at Mirt, eyes twinkling.
"Mmm," Mirt said in welcome, holding his rejected plate of fried snake up toward her, "The Bard of Shadowdale-and me without anything to plug my ears,"
Storm stuck her tongue out at him and took the plate. Out from behind her stepped a familiar figure that made Shandril squeal with delight and bounce up from the table.
"Elminster!" she cried, "Are you well?"
A flicker of a smile crossed the bearded face as Shandril threw her arms around him and embraced him lightly. Warm, avid lips met hers, and she pulled her head back, startled, "You're not Elminster!"
"No," Torm said with a grin as his